The Lost Art of Conversation

Sometimes you don't know what is missing in your life until you see it...or more precisely, you FEEL it.  Like an old jacket pulled from the back of your closet you know suddenly you have missed it all along, and just adjusted to living without it.
    How easy it is to forget.  In 1995, my husband and I took a three week trip to Greece.  On the tiny island of Tinos, we prayed for a  child before the miracle working icon of the Virgin, and relaxed into the simple rhythms of village life. The water was an indescribable blue, the air smelled of chamomile, and the food was delicious.  Every day the village closed all the stores and shops at 3:00pm and the inhabitants returned to their homes for naps and family time until the stores reopened after 5.  One day at the end of one of these breaks, reclining peacefully on my twin bed, I "felt" an old memory lagging at the back of my head.  At first it was shadowy and faint, but as I lay there it crystallized and became clear.  It was the sound of children playing in the streets that struck such an old chord in my mind.  The clacking of jump ropes on the sidewalks, the sing - song prattle of playground rhymes. the trilling child voices calling out in hide and seek. "How long had it been since I had heard these sounds?"  "When did I become accustomed to the silence of the American neighborhood?"
Here in Tinos, televisions were a rarity, the only time my husband and I saw one was in a local taverna where all the neighbors had gathered to watch "The Life of Jesus Christ" Children here in the town played outside in the afternoons as they had for centuries, without the need for self absorbing television, video games,computers. They learned how to socialize with games and play the way we all should.

The adult equivalent happened to me recently. My mother and her boyfriend recently married in a small ceremony in their home outside of Pittsburgh. Following the intimate ceremony there was a brief time for cake and refreshments, where we all mingled and introduced ourselves to each other.  Then as if on cue, we all settled down into seats and began to talk. Verbal bantering, mock challenges, and warm acceptance enveloped the group as each person revealed unique pieces of their character.  Stories came flowing out, many of them funny and revealing. This was not all family, although there was family present. Many of us were strangers before this day. It all just FELT so familiar!  Again, that sense of an old comfortable memory pulled at me as it had in Greece. "How long had it been since I sat in a room filled with people and had relaxed intimate conversation?' Somewhere back in my childhood I am sure...at family picnics, with cousins late at night, maybe in college with friends of like mind.  Nowhere had it happened in the last ten years I am certain.  The constant interruption of everyday life keeps us away from the process of conversation.  Phone calls, appointments, kids schedules, and distance all  conspire to keep us from having meaningful conversations with each other.  Conversation takes time, the ability to listen and a genuine respect for others opinions and values. The division in our political system  also reflects our societies inability to have these conversations. Maybe if we had a bit more conversation, we could come to more acceptable solutions for the American people!
I advocate today for more time to talk, listen and accept each other.  Let's all sit around with coffee cups and wait for what will come out if we give it time, let's get excited about getting to know one another again and let's surprise ourselves by having a conversation that is worth something to us.

Lunar Eclipse

The last time I saw a lunar eclipse,
     I was a little bit drunk,
stretched out on a dune at a Newburyport beach.
There under the clarity of a midnight sky,
    wrapped in the warmth of blankets and wine,
the
moon
faded
away...
the clouds, like dark kites blowing about the
    fading man's face...
until only the rim
    like edging on a dinner plate
shone on.

The next day,
    the man in the moon was Tom's father;
and the shadow was cast,
    somewhere in his brain,
like a clot,
    and he fell
and almost vanished
    but for the ring
which like gold
   shone on.

I was six years younger then
     and every shadow I had somehow dodged -
forbidden to fade me.
Tonight
the earth sifts again.
ever so slowly.
turning into the suns rays;
like the fears of my childhood,
creeping
over
the only light that shines in my night sky.
"today you are young ,and tomorrow you are old"
Time I did not know was passing until this night,
under this moon;
I remember the changed face of a man I loved.
"How did I come to be here?"
in this darkness,
riddled with shifting shadows
    like the bark of this chestnut tree
    and the back of the spotted newt?"

In the passing of this moment:
this moon,
I am eclipsed,
and I am changed.
1995


Musician's Hands

 Mesmoizing hands
    that in their violence bring forth song
Mastery and tenderness
    weaved artfully in tendons.
Knuckles, nail and bone
    captivated with anticipation,
deserate to match the fingers to the soul.
"Pinky, Play, Play"
    Masculinity marked with gentleness.

Pinky, Play, Play...
    "do these hands belong to someone I know?"
The heart lies unveiled in it's movement.

How I envy that which in diligence and loves
   wooes forth a tune
and in striking notes
draws out the song.
1981